


Vampire the Masquerade: Datelines

by completetheory



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Prompt ficlets, Queer Friendly, Queer Themes, Tags TBA, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: A collection of ficlets, prompted by the OTPtober list. Primarily Sebastian LaCroix. Are there other characters in Bloodlines?
Relationships: Sebastian LaCroix/Original Nosferatu Character(s), Sebastian LaCroix/Original Toreador Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



> The prompt lists in question: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Eg6J7-_WkAIdg5w?format=jpg&name=medium  
> https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Eg6J872WkAArPlx?format=jpg&name=medium

"I'm bored." Ouija announced themself into the Prince's chambers with a bow, and a latent, but heartfelt, "My Prince."

"I can always find something for you to do." Sebastian couldn't help but warm to her Toreador Primogen, who, despite hitting every stereotypical low note of their clan, somehow _never_ forgot who was prince of the city. That deference served them well in her domain.

"Ooh?" Ouija leaned in, "Such as?"

"Work." LaCroix relished in their dramatic face fall, suspecting Ouija's living days with the Italian acting troupe were never far from them. "Did you expect anything else? Can't you entertain yourself?"

"Not quietly." Ouija's open expressions were as much a mercurial mask as Hardestadt's legendary stone facade; they showed teeth in a grin. "I should like to entertain myself with you, my Prince." 

A beat.

"Is that so." This was new ground, unsteady and unmapped, and LaCroix moved far more cautiously across it than mere moments ago, not certain if she was to be the butt of a very ill advised joke. But a joke solely for the two of them? "You'll have to be more specific." 

Ouija tilted their head back, the fluorescent light rippling over the albino skin of their neck, with their veins prominent. A very submissive gesture, a very open invitation, but LaCroix needed more, and leaned forward in her chair with a creak. 

"What, Mx. Roman, do you really want?" 

The Toreador inclined their head forward again, abruptly serious. "I want to give you the appreciation you deserve, and won't get from these milkfang Anarchs. I want to worship all up and down that Ventrue spine of yours with my mouth. I confess, Prince LaCroix... I've had my admiring eye on you for a very long time." 

Sebastian swallowed, and gained mastery of herself, galvanized by that, and trusting it in a way she did not trust the empty flattery of sycophants. Maybe because Ouija stood there so painfully sober, not making any jokes or being as flippantly airheaded as parody of their clan might move them. 

Wasn't she a good Ventrue? Didn't she deserve this confession, among other things that it promised her? Yes. Of course! 

"Then come here and admire me."


	2. First Date

The restaurant wasn't the one in Hollywood that LaCroix had her eye on, that Sunday had ruined the reputation of just by bloodlessly showing up and putting ...Flavertown (or whatever his name had been) off his food. After, Sunday suspected the Prince had been gunning so hard for the building so that she could keep an eye on the hunter- and Sabbat-infested territory without alerting Isaac Abrams. 

No, this was a private dining area, an Elysium, where only the odd ghoul was serving, and Sunday sat across from the Prince in a fancy chair, grinning with all their teeth showing.

"I suppose it's been a little while since you've done anything remotely normal, for mortal purpose." Sebastian observed, drinking thoughtfully from a fluted glass. 

"Almost a month." Sunday returned, looking around briefly at the candles and flowers and ambiance as if duty bound to register the effort but far more desirous of drinking in the sight of their sovereign. LaCroix had almost instantaneously (by Kindred timelines) offered them partnership - _ruling Los Angeles side by side!_ \- as soon as Sunday had proven themself willing to throw in with the Camarilla.

In truth, Sunday was throwing in with LaCroix. And if the Prince served the Camarilla, so too would the Fledgling, for as long as she willed it.

"What is it?" LaCroix asked, pausing after another sip, "I know this can't replace a human dining experience, obviously... Or one for a Kindred who might pass as kine, either. It must be difficult for you?"

"Oh no, it's lovely." Sunday said, honestly. "I'm just thinking about how happy I am to be with you."

Sebastian stared a moment too long. As most Ventrue valued their composure, real or imagined, she shook it off in short order, and gave them a practiced, tight lipped smile that showed no hint of fang. 

"You don't flatter, do you."

"Not really." Sunday admitted, "Mostly I just listen."

That made them a spectacularly good choice for a Nosferatu, in Sebastian's estimation. Even though it was cruel and monstrous to Embrace without a mortal's say so, and her office as Prince allowed her to regulate the excesses of other Kindred, to mete out justice of a sort, to prevent the domino effect of kindred birth from spilling out and affecting dozens of mortals...

To be undead was neither curse, nor disease, in her mind, but it was something to be entered into with utmost gravity. 

"I'm fortunate." Sebastian admitted. "To have won the affection of such an efficient public servant. I would adopt you as my own Childe, Sunday."

Sunday made no secret of their excitement, "You can do that?"

LaCroix leaned back and folded her legs. "In Los Angeles, I am Prince. I recognize that my hold on this territory is contingent on the support of its most powerful Kindred. My Sheriff is Tzimisce. Did you know that?"

"No." The Nosferatu sounded curious, "That's a Fiend, right? --Is that a slur?"

"It isn't a polite term." LaCroix agreed, "I imagine one of the Anarchs taught you that?"

"Isaac."

"I thought as much." She just barely avoided rolling her eyes, "In any event. Sheriff Jawara would be a controversial choice in an East Coast domain. Not many of the Tzimisce follow the Camarilla... But I don't like to bore you with politics. The short of it is that I can make you my Childe if I wish, and no one coming this far out to visit from the Camarilla would have a problem with it, or they wouldn't visit at all. I don't foresee us returning to New York City, at least not until the dust has settled..."

Sunday leaned over the table and grasped her hand in one long fingered talon, earnestly. "I'd really like that. To be your Childe, Sebastian. Thank you."

Sebastian's smile came and vanished under a facade of seriousness. 

"Then I'll formalize it tomorrow evening with the Primogen as witnesses. But," Sebastian paused, self deprecating, "I'm sure this isn't what you expected out of your first date with me."

"You are a Ventrue." Sunday lifted their own glass in toast. "It's exactly what I wanted."


	3. Holding Hands

The Ventrue emphasis on hands, culturally, was nearly as strong as the Tzimisce emphasis on territory. From the appropriate length of time for ring kissing to a knowing tension in a thumbpad brush against the thenar webspace, the Clan had entire books on how to preserve Dignitas while flirting using hand gestures and touches, how to imply interest or disinterest, and how to communicate a range of emotion with a simple clasping handshake. 

Most of that nuance was lost on the other Clans, and 'hands are an erogenous zone' was also lost on them, especially when they witnessed the Ventrue shaking hands as in the traditional mortal businessperson sense. 

Some sporadic attempts to translate their system had been made, primarily by enterprising Toreador who were bored, wanted to fuck Ventrue, saw it as performance art, or some other reason known only to them. But with the exception of _Chirologia, A Handy Guide_ , translated from Latin and with terribly poor scan quality, most enterprising non-Ventrue had met with no success. 

"This is deference," LaCroix indicated, opening the thumb just slightly and placing the rest of the hand on the table, "Or in the lap, generally, as a sign of listening and good faith. This," She raised fore- and middle-fingers, curling the other two in, "Not high in the air, under your eye level, is a request to respectfully disagree with what was just said, but to elaborate in private later. It helps to avoid humiliation and perceived dissention in the ranks, in mixed Clan company." 

Sunday watched, and tried to imitate some of the hand motions, as well as committing them to memory. It was nothing like ASL, which Sunday had also enjoyed the idea of, and wanted to learn. 

"An invitation to adjourn for less serious business, and a denial of that same invitation, inverted. You won't need to know many of these, and they won't expect you to. Most of the time even when you are introduced as Sunday Latimore-LaCroix, they will treat you as an exceptionally close Nosferatu ally, not a Ventrue Childe." 

"I want to learn it." Sunday said, all the same. 

"I'm sure you'll pick it up just as quickly as anything else." LaCroix assured them, reaching to clasp the bony knuckles of their nearest great claw-tipped hand, "Let me show you this... To slide your first finger between these two of mine, and let your hand rest interlocked with mine, is a sign that we are--..." 

Sebastian struggled to find a word for the action, but the motion itself was both so tender and so purposeful that Sunday was tempted to try. They waited, content to keep their hand right there, gnarled and dangerous next to Sebastian's pale fingers. 

"Amicitia," Sebastian gave up on translating, "In Ventrue terms it is a friend, a lover, and a political ally all in one. To announce this publicly is tantamount to wearing a wedding band, save that it identifies the ones to which you voluntarily bind yourself."

"So that means I can do it at the next Gerousia?" Sunday asked. 

Sebastian found she had no desire to move her hand, either. The thought of being so publicly announced, and the ripples of social confusion it would cause, similar to those when she had ascended to Ancilla Prince... when she had arrived with Tzimisce Sheriff in tow, and when she discreetly inquired into the _real_ Camarilla stance on Ventru... 

All her unlife, she'd been doing things unconventionally, and Sunday was the latest in a long line of successes based on reaching out to Kindred darkhorses. 

"I'd like that, Sunday." 

The Nosferatu lifted her hand in their own, and kissed the back of it.


	4. First Kiss

LaCroix's first Kiss with the Kindred in Belgium was a highly classified secret. Unlike most of the Ventrue in that region, Sebastian's first Kiss was not also the Embrace, and neither was it spontaneous in nature. She climbed into the Kindred's lap, the mood was one of hunger, trust, something Sebastian had little of in life and would be forced to cede even more in undeath.

Those fingers she had come to know and love so fiercely, which could cause such rending devastation, stroked back her hair and the collar of her shirt, and cold lips replaced them on her neck. There was no pain, not even at first - these specific teeth were shaped just-so, their owner so finicky about these things... 

LaCroix's first Kiss sent a surge of pleasure up and down her spine, and the warmth she bled out for her lover was fast and willing, but this particular Kindred was also old... She knew well the method of restraint to keep the Beast happiest. Never domestic, not for _this_ one, but tamer, wiser, alligator-placid. 

"You will do well and go far." Whispered the voice in her ear, as Sebastian came back to herself, "You will be a proud Ventrue, a good ruler. You won't simply annihilate those against and underneath you. You will wait... I can see this patience in you, this compassion for the misguided and the frightened. But you may not reach them."

Sebastian wet her mouth with blood, unaware of where precisely it came from, but trusting that this Kindred would not ghoul her without a long and civil discussion. It tasted sweet. It may have been this Kindred's, or it may have been her own, but it was not the bitter blood to which she had grown accustomed. 

"That's all right," Sebastian found a string of cohesive thought upon which to construct the sentences, "I'll find some way around it. If people aren't amenable to reason, they must surely bend along lines of necessity." 

"It may be." The voice in her ear was sorrow, was old experiences whetted keen with new hope, "You know I desire it. All I desire... I see in you. You will be my Childe. And you will be a fine Ventrue." 

Sebastian smiled, somewhere in the back of her mind, a hazy lack of concern for anything else, "And Prince." 

"And Prince! And perhaps even more... But I must go now. They already suspect you and I enough to point, but it would not be well for them to discover proof, or they would assume I mean to Embrace you. Hardestadt is that sort; he is the law and order to the chaos of the natural world." 

"I like Hardestadt." LaCroix's quiet rebuke held no anger, or even irritation. "I suspect you do as well. Something about... how you tease him." 

"Hmmm." 

The plush bedclothes pulled up and tucked in, and LaCroix warm and safe, the site of the Kiss gently throbbing; she closed her eyes and slipped off into a peaceful sleep. For the first time since she had left Waterloo, there was no lingering, shallow unease in the waking world.


	5. Cuddling

Ouija's albino skin was even more fascinating up close and personal. Their arms, wrapped around LaCroix's diaphram, were loose enough to escape from but tight enough to be possessive, exactly as Sebastian enjoyed it. The pillowtalk was a little... less so.

"The closest analogy I can think of is if someone had guns for hands. Gun Hands McGee. But it's not really a case of bodily autonomy even then, because the law is on the books that any kind of physical aggression is assault."

LaCroix closed her eyes. "What are we talking about?" 

"Oh, you were distracted. Yes. Disciplines. Non-defensive, non-passive ones. Mandating the use of violent disciplines by Camarilla code."

Sebastian latched onto the words with weary finality, like a parent long-fatigued trudging to bed, only to be waylaid by a request for a glass of water at the final step. "You can mandate whatever you please. Kindred are contrary, hair-trigger savages who will furnish any excuse to escalate." 

"That's true," Ouija admitted, "But if we treated Disciplines like brandishing weaponry, as in Elysium-territories..." 

The Toreador trailed away. Their body was warm against LaCroix's, flush with the blush of life, and they could pass for a living human in a way that Sebastian felt unsure about enjoying. Sex with kine was... all right, even if they registered in that strange gray area, partly prey, partly the larval stage of Kindred, partly unfortunate memories and connotations. While sex with Kindred could be dangerous, politically or otherwise. But Ouija had proven themself not mocking or with any specific ill intent that she could discern. 

Except for the pillowtalk. Which was occasionally political but mostly incoherent. She was still struggling to comprehend how they'd mutually arrived at the topic, when Ouija took to stroking her close cropped hair.

"Not to worry. We'll work on solidfying the Camarilla's strength here in Los Angeles first, _then_ deal with your new dictates."

"They're your dictates." LaCroix pointed out, good naturedly, but mostly only because the sex had been good and she was baffled by them more than threatened. 

"So what do you want to talk about?" Ouija whispered into her ear.

LaCroix thought about it, turning to curl into them, and whispered, "I want to sleep." 

"Oh. Can I keep talking when you're asleep?" 

What.

"Yes. I don't mind. Just don't wake me." She tucked herself against the warm body, appreciating it more the longer she pressed up to it. 

Really, Ouija had a lovely voice, so long as one could completely ignore the content.


End file.
